Chapter Nine
Tris
“Ouch!” I yelp, swinging my hand back and forth, trying to cool the burn. I swear I will beat this cappuccino machine with a bat until it’s nothing but a bunch of scrap metal if it’s the last thing I do.
“That looked like it hurt,” someone says from behind me. I turn to see the pink-haired girl wearing a lopsided grin as she has the gall to shake her head at me. What was her name again?
“I thought Ainsley said you’ve been here for like six months or something?” she says, like she must not have the right information.
“I have,” I grit out as I try one more time to get this machine to do what I need it to, filling my lungs with air so I don’t explode.
“If you say so,” she mumbles. “Okay, okay, enough of that.” She grabs my wrists off the machine that I was seconds from ripping apart with surprising strength for someone who doesn’t even look more than five feet tall.
“As hilarious as this is to watch you struggle, how about you tell me what you need and I’ll make it. ”
She moves into my place, and within seconds, the machine is answering to her like she’s hacked some sort of code.
“You’re kidding me,” I drawl, hands balanced on my hips as I stare between her and the machine, mouth half open, eyes wide. “You got it to work?”
That sideways grin graces her face again as her eyes bounce between the machine and me. “I’m pretty sure a small child could get this thing to work,” she says slowly.
The nerve!
“Ha, funny.”
She snickers as she puts the pieces into their places with ease.
“Well, I’m not sure a small child isn’t the one getting it to work now,” I throw back at her.
“Ha, bitch,” she says with a surprised exhale.
“Brat,” I retort instantly, but instead of looking angry or dismissive, her eyes narrow and she smiles.
“Oh, good. Y’all have met,” Ainsley says, as she reaches us, all smiles and flowers.
“Yup,” she says, popping her ‘p’ at the same time as I call out “No.”
Ainsley looks between the two of us, her brow raised in confusion, before running her hand over one of the braids in her hair.
“Well, alrighty then. Rory, this is Tris. Tris, this is Rory. She’s starting today and will be shadowing you.
” Ainsley looks behind me and catches the cappuccino machine brewing a fresh cup.
“Yay! You finally figured it out. I knew you would, and just in time to teach Rory. I’ll leave ya’ll to it. ”
Rory coughs to cover a laugh as Ainsley heads back to the register. My eyes shift back to Rory the second Ainsley is out of earshot.
“I’m not sure I like you,” I say flatly, eyes narrowing a fraction as I study her.
“That’s okay. I don’t swing that way.” She shrugs, walking away to open up every drawer she sees.
“Wait.” Shaken and still processing what she’s said, I follow after her. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, really? I mean, you do you. To each her, his, their own. Whatever floats your boat. That’s totally fine by me.” She continues to explore, examining each tea bag, cup, and coaster she picks up.
“No, no, no,” I say, flustered. “You misunderstood.”
She walks through the swinging door to the back, continuing her exploration, leaving me behind her.
“Ugh,” I huff and follow through the door. “What I meant was that I’m not sure...” I stop short when I see the expression on her face. Her mouth is twisted as she tries not to laugh at me, and her blue eyes are bright, waiting for me to catch on. “Oh, my God. You really are a brat.”
She laughs and crosses her arms, cocking her head to the side.
“You’re messing with me,” I say flatly, surprised I didn’t catch on sooner.
“You made it pretty easy.”
“Who are you again?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around who this woman is in front of me.
There’s a vague sense of familiarity about her that I can’t place.
She has dark blue eyes with a light blue ring around her pupil, and pink curly hair that fades to rose gold in some spots.
Standing straight, she barely reaches my chin, and is dressed in a crop top, jeans, Converse, and a flannel wrapped around her waist.
“I’m Rory, Rory Bolton.” The girl curtsies.
Literally. Curtsies. “Now, if you’re done checking me out,” she says sarcastically, and I tilt my head up to the ceiling, silently asking God to give me patience, before she points to the baking trays lined up on the table.
“Tell me what those are supposed to be?”
“Ugh, not again.” No matter what I do or how I try to reshape them, these biscuits always end up looking the same.
“You realize those look like—”
“I’m aware!” I look on in disappointment. “I’ve been trying to get the hearts to look more like hearts, but instead they still look like,” I pause. “This.”
Rory quirks her head to the side and inspects them. She picks one up, and I debate letting her eat one just so I can watch her spit it out, but I decide to stop her as it reaches her mouth.
“Why can’t I try one?” She pouts.
“They’re not for people,” I attempt to explain.
“Huh?”
“They’re for Ellie.”
“Who’s Ellie?”
“A dog.”
“You have a dog?”
“No.”
“Then why can’t I have one?”
“Because they’re for Ellie!”
“Ellie?”
“Yes.”
“The dog?”
“Yes.”
“The dog that doesn’t belong to you?”
“Exactly.”
“Then who does Ellie belong to?”
“That’s not important,” I huff.
“Got it,” she says. “Okay. There’s a dog. Her name is Ellie. You’re not the owner.” She nods her head like she’s writing it all down somewhere in her head. “So, these are Ellie’s biscuits.”
“Now you’re getting it. Also, that’s a much better name for them than ballsack biscuits.”
Rory’s jaw drops. “Shut up! Is that what you’ve been calling them?”
I find myself smiling at her despite myself. “Yes. Blame Ainsley.”
She giggles and looks at the biscuit still in her hand with a glint in her eye before chomping down on it anyway. I stand in complete and utter shock as she starts sputtering, trying to spit out the biscuit into the wastebasket.
“These things taste awful! You make these on purpose?” She chokes as she spits out the last bit still stuck in her mouth.
I laugh until tears form in my eyes. “What is wrong with you?” I ask, handing her one of the water bottles we keep here in the fridge.
She reaches for it like a mad woman and drinks the whole bottle in one shot. “You want the list or a PowerPoint. The PowerPoint has pictures. I highly suggest it, it really gives you a glimpse into the magic happening here.” She points to her head.
I chuckle again under my breath, feeling lighter than I have in months. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What? I was curious. If I hadn’t tasted that horrible biscuit, my brain would’ve never let me focus on anything else. You’d show me where we keep the coffee filters at, and my thoughts would keep going back to ‘what’s that biscuit taste like?’” She shrugs, like this is a normal occurrence for her.
“So we can move on now, is what you’re saying?” I ask to confirm, genuinely amused by her and this whole interaction.
“Yup.” She smiles widely, popping the ‘p’.
“Great.” Heading through the swinging door, something she said sticks out. “Did you say your last name is Bolton? As in Blake Bolton?”
Cracks show in her happy demeanor at the mention of his name, making me wonder if there may be more to her than just this fun and silly version I’ve seen. Before answering, she somehow manages to look smaller.
“Yeah, he’s my half-brother,” she says softly, not making eye contact and instead looking around the cafe.
I’m not the first to know anything in this town, but since Ainsley is friendly with basically everyone, she did let me know about a 911 call a few weeks back.
“I’m sorry about everything you two are going through right now,” I say quietly, surprised by my own sincerity.
Rory’s big blue eyes meet mine, and she forces a smile, but this one is nothing like any I’ve seen so far today.
“It’ll be fine,” she says quickly, like that’s what she’s been telling herself on repeat.
“And thank you. But hey, here isn’t the place and there’s nothing I can do about any of it, so the way I see it is it’s better to work and stay busy. ”
“Don’t I know it?” I grumble.
I spend the morning showing her the ins and outs of the cafe, the same way that Ainsley taught me months ago, along with things I’ve had to learn on my own, the hard way.
We chat as we go, making the time float by with ease.
Rory likes to talk, and from what I can tell, she’s candid and hilarious.
Originally from Florida, at only twenty-two, she thought she didn’t have any family after her mother died from alcoholism.
That is, until her big hockey star cousin from the Tampa Bay Hawks showed up, letting her know that not only does he exist, but he also told her she has a brother she never knew about.
She’s still navigating all of the family drama that’s unfolding, but from what I can tell, she’s happy to be here.
Which is good because she’s been easy to teach and super helpful.
I may even end my day without the usual migraine and aching feet.
“I’ve worked all my life. I can’t tell you how many jobs I’ve had.” Her eyes shift over my shoulder and toward the entrance. “Ah,” she gasps, before dropping behind the counter like some kind of Raggedy Ann doll, hands covering her face like that’s enough for her to go unnoticed.
I look behind me, just in time to see the firefighters all walk in.
And him.
It’s been weeks since Memorial Day weekend, and I’ve perfected the art of pretending he doesn’t exist. Which is impressive, considering his words still echo when I least expect them.
I don’t look at him. Not once. The moment I feel his attention shift my way, I drop my gaze to the pink mess on the floor like she’s suddenly the most important person in the room.
“I didn’t realize your view could get any lower, but you keep surprising me,” I tease from above.